


what honor. what pain

by HuiLian



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, RotT Spoilers, minimal editing we die like mne, there is a criminally low amount of gen&MoW fics and that is A CRIME
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27492304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HuiLian/pseuds/HuiLian
Summary: what honor, to have your son be chosen by the gods. what pain.or, 6 times the Minister of War reflected on what it meant to have a son chosen by the gods, and one time he didn't have to.
Relationships: Eugenides & Minister of War (Queen's Thief)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 68





	what honor. what pain

**Author's Note:**

> okay, who is the gal who decided to read a series in the week when she had two math midterms, and then promptly loved it and went on to write a 4k something character and relationship study? this gal right here. i am VERY new to this fandom, so bear with me here. but also, i wanted more content with gen and the MoW (who we have a name now! after six books!) and if I cannot find one i will create one, so enjoy!
> 
> also, ROTT spoilers abound!

It was a fool’s errand. It was _supposed_ to be a fool’s errand, a way to get Gen safely out of Eddis. It galled him to know that Eddis could be, no, that Eddis _was_ unsafe for any of his children, but he was a minister and a prince and he knew what he should do. 

What he _must_ do. 

So he abstained as the council, cousins and relatives and old friends all, voted to kill Gen. The boy whom each of them has watched grow. The boy whom their own children had played with. The boy who was his son. 

The boy who declared himself the Thief of Eddis and who, through _his_ folly, was now considered a great danger of the throne. 

He was a prince and a minister and he had sworn, years ago, that none other than his niece who was Eddis would be crowned. But he was also a father and he could not, _would not_ , watch as his son was killed.

So he had come to Gen’s study, with coins grabbed hastily from his own rooms, and had told him about the message from Sounis. He had planned to tell him all of it, down to the decision that the council had made, but the moment he saw his son’s face, he couldn’t bear to do it. Another compromise he had made with himself. 

Nevertheless, that tale about Hamiathes’s Gift should keep Gen occupied, _away_ from Eddis, for long enough. He knew his son. Gen would never quit when he had a goal in mind, and for once, that stubbornness would keep him safe. 

It was a fool’s errand. An impossible task.

He should have known. There was nothing that was impossible for his youngest son. 

Looking at the deceptively unassuming stone in Gen’s hand, with no doubt in his mind that that was Hamiathes’s Gift, he found himself thinking about the day Gen was born. He hadn’t cried as the midwife took him from between his mother’s legs. He hadn’t cried, and Hector had feared that the boy would leave as soon as he had come, only staying in this world for the span of a breath.

But then the boy had opened his eyes, with more understanding than a babe just born should have had, and blinked. Once. And then, _then_ he cried, after making it known that his loud cries are because he had chosen to do so and not because of anything else. 

Hector should have known then. A thief never makes a noise by accident, his wife always told him so. 

A Thief never makes a noise by accident, and it was the Thief of Eddis standing there, with Hamiathes’s Gift on his hands, giving it to his queen. An unquestionable act of loyalty, and an indisputable proof that the queen was destined to be Eddis. 

The gods do not lie, and they do not give their gifts lightly. 

The gods do not lie, and they have no patience for mere mortals who seek to undermine their will. The minister looked at the stone dangling from his youngest son’s hand, and closed his eyes, finally bowing to the gods’ will, one he had contested for years. 

His youngest son was the Thief of Eddis. 

Because only the Thief of Eddis can possibly steal Hamiathes’s Gift, and even then, only those whom the gods have decreed to do so. 

Hector closed his eyes, and, for the first time in a long, long while, prayed. 

***

The gods do not give their gifts lightly. That was the thought in Hector’s head as he, with the rest of Eddis’s council, waited for the litter carrying Eugenides to reach the court. 

The gods do not give their gifts lightly. 

He watched as his son was dragged out of the litter and he watched as the Attolian soldier mocked him. It was lucky that his queen had silenced the soldier before he could, because he did not know what he would have done had the mocking continued. 

The moment Galen declared that Gen was still alive, he rushed forward himself, wanting the certainty of warmth and heartbeats from his son. He tapped Galen on the shoulder and the man stepped back to allow him to take Gen in his arms. 

He saw the boy curled up in his arms and remembered all the times he had done this. Then he looked at the missing hand and knew that this was _nothing_ like he had ever done before. 

Gen felt light in his arms. It did not reassure him. 

He turned and stepped inside, trusting his queen to deal with the Attolian soldiers that had brought Gen back. The crowd parted to allow him to pass, and he did not know whether it was from respect or from pity. 

He did not care to know. 

He navigated through the palace, Galen and his assistants trailing in his wake. No one stopped him and no one tried to take Gen away from him. He went up the stairs and into Gen’s room, tidy and waiting for him just like he had asked it to be. Gently, he put the boy in his bed, and saw in his mind the last time he had done exactly this, after the boy had returned with Hamiathes’s gift in his hands. 

He had feared what it had meant then, that the gods had all but declared their favor of his son. The moment he had seen the stone in Gen’s hands, he had known that the gods had willed that his son be the Thief of Eddis, and had waited with bated breath what it would mean. 

The gods do not give their gifts lightly, and their favor even less. 

He had waited with bated breath for the gods' price, and yet, he was still unprepared for this. 

He brushed the matted, dirty hair out of Gen’s forehead, with as much gentleness as his battle-weary hands could muster, and then stepped aside to let Galen and his assistants do their work. 

He has his own work to do.

***

He watched as Gen explained the plan one last time in front of all the assembled men. His wish that Gen had become a soldier instead of a thief comes to mind, with Gen standing with as much battle-weariness and determination as any soldier. But then, his son had never been lacking in determination, and that was not what stopped him becoming a soldier. 

Gen did not waver as he explained his plan again, and stayed that way as Eddis also relayed her instructions to the men. 

They needn’t have done that. These were the best men in Eddis, Hector had personally made sure it was so. 

Still, it was an impossible plan. With an even more impossible outcome, even if they succeed.

There was nothing that was impossible for his youngest son. 

He saw Eddis call her Thief back, and for a single fleeting moment, hoped that she would call off this mission. Not because of any doubts about this plan, but because he feared what would happen _if_ this plan succeeds. But his queen only spoke with Gen for a moment, and then, with a last bow, his son was off. The Thief of Eddis, in his last ever mission, whether the plan succeeds or not. 

He watched as the men started their march down the Aracthus, and found himself unable to decide whether he should pray for the gods to bless this plan or for the gods to look away and not meddle any more in his son’s endeavours. A futile hope, he knew. The gods were watching his son, had been and would continue to do so until such time _they_ decide not to. Nothing he did would make any difference, no matter how many sacrifices he left on their altars. 

He watched the men march down the empty Aracthus, and wondered what the woodcutter felt, when he had watched his son leave to gain immortality and godhood. If it were anything like he was feeling now, he did not envy him. 

***

They succeeded. That mad plan of Gen’s actually succeeded. He should have known. His son could steal Hamiathes’s Gift from the gods, could steal Sounis’s navy and magus with one hand, and now, he has stolen the Queen of Attolia and have her agree to their plans. 

Hector let himself breathe easier, after months of worry. Maybe the gods are finally satisfied with their sufferings. Maybe the gods are finally satisfied with _his son’s_ sufferings. 

Of course, that was when the Medes came. That was when they failed.

He told Eugenides that all the men would follow him, to their deaths if need be. Unspoken was the fact that _he_ would follow him, and that he would rather die than let Gen be taken again by the Queen of Attolia. But Gen had looked at him, shook his head, and threw his sword down. 

And so Hector followed, however much he didn’t want to. 

Now here they were, sitting on the stone floors of the megaron of Ephrata. He knew that the men chained to Eugenides on their way here had offered to die with him, and that Eugenides had declined. He also knew that Eugenides had declined it because he did not want other people to die for him.

Hector never thought he would have to do this. Did he not send Gen to Sounis so that he would not have to watch his son be killed? But now, in the megaron of Ephrata, staring at the only possible choice he has to spare his son torture and a gruesome death, he made his way to Eugenides and lifted his chains. 

Gen opened his eyes to look at him, and closed them again, tilting his head up to offer his neck. If Hector did not already know that calling on the gods would only make this worse, he would have prostrated himself in prayer already. But he knew that praying was useless, that the gods would do what they want and use all of them to their liking, especially those who had caught their eye, and so Hector wrapped his chain around Gen’s throat, and pulled. 

There was no sound. A Thief does not make a noise he does not intend to. And his son, by the will of the gods, was the Thief of Eddis. 

The gods do not give their gifts lightly. 

He pulled harder, begging that if the gods had ever held his son in their favor, they would let this happen quickly. But then a kick came to Hector’s head, and he lost his grip on the chains. 

So. 

He blinked hard, trying to rid his dizziness as quickly as possible, but it made no difference. They would be watching now, and there won’t be another chance. His son would be taken from him to be tortured and to die the most gruesome death the Queen of Attolia could think of. He knew it. The Queen of Attolia knew it. The entire megaron knew it. 

Most important of all, Gen knew it, and he was very, very afraid of it. 

Hector tried to catch Gen’s attention again, to comfort him if for nothing else, but Gen closed his eyes and did not open them. Hector kept his eyes trained on his son anyway, ready in the unlikely case that his son would seek comfort, and wishing that his son was anyone else but the Thief of Eddis. Wishing that the gods had never taken any interest in him. Wishing that he could have protected him better, cherished him further, _loved_ him more. 

Was this the gods’ plan for his son? Was this what they had in mind for him, when they chose him among countless other mortals? 

Torture and a painful death. The gods do not give their gifts lightly, and when they have plans for you, they do not care whether you want those plans or not. 

He kept his eyes trained on Gen’s face, at the lines decorating that face that did nothing to obscure the fact that his son is still very, very young. Why did the gods have to choose his son? Why couldn’t it be some other man that has taken their attention? Why couldn’t they have left his son alone? 

He was so lost in thought that he heard the Queen of Attolia arrive only after she had stood in front of Eugenides. Hector switched his gaze then, to look at the woman who had taken his son’s hand and heart. Who will now take his life. 

She grabbed Gen by the hair and said something that sounded like gloating. Everyone understood what would happen to his son by this woman’s command. She needn’t have asked him that. 

But Gen answered her with sincerity, and that was Hector’s first clue that something else was happening. That maybe the gods have something else planned for his son other than torture and death. 

She left, and the moment she was out of earshot, Gen looked at him, and said, “She said yes.” 

“Gen,” he began, wanting to know exactly _what_ in that exchange had made Gen be so sure, but before he could say anything else, his son shook his head. 

“She said yes. Tell my queen that this is it.” 

Hector wanted to press Gen further, wanted to know precisely what had possessed him to think that that woman could say yes to his proposal and yet still keeping all of them, including Eugenides, chained here. But he didn’t have a chance to do so before the Attolian guards had taken him and placed him before their queen. 

_What remains of his life, he spends with me_.

A message to bring back to his queen. Hector knew now why Gen had fallen in love with this woman. It was a wonderful message, crafted to perfection to let them know what she intends to do while keeping the Mede ambassador in the dark. A wonderful message, except for all the ways it was not.

Hector has accepted that by the end of this mission, his son would no longer be his. He knew that when he nodded his assent to this mission. He knew that if this succeeds, Gen would be married and so his father would have no claim of him, not anymore. And he has accepted, in those hours when they thought they have failed, that his son will be dead and gone and therefore not anyone’s ever again.

Oh, none of his children are ever truly his, that he knows. They are also their country’s, their mother’s, their siblings’, and their own partner’s and children’s. He did not object to that, not for his other children.

But this one, his youngest son, his gods-chosen, gods-blessed, gods-favored son, this one was taken from him by the god he was named after. This one was taken by the great goddess herself and by her entire court the moment he had laid his hand on Hamiathes’s Gift. 

At least that time, he had returned home. At least that time, Hector had been allowed to keep him, no matter how much he had been claimed by the gods. 

This time, he will be taken by the woman who had dressed herself in imitation of the great goddess, who had taken his hand and his heart, and who will imitate Hephestia in one more way after this day has passed. She would take his son, and there would be nothing left for his father to keep.

As Hector rides at top speed to the hills, he thinks that mayhaps this one has never truly been his, just like the god his son was named after was never truly the woodcutter’s. This one was just entrusted to him, to guard and to protect until the gods have seen fit to use him. 

And use him they had. 

***

They suggested Ornon. Hector shook his head, just once, and everyone fell silent. If the gods wished to try his son, they would have to do it through his own hands. 

He had challenged his brother, years and years ago. He was one of the twelve young men who had come to test this man who would be their king, because he had been young then. Now he was old, and he would try his son. 

Never had he thought that would do so. He did not want to be king, and he did not want any of his sons to be one. But what are mortals’ wishes and wants compared to the gods’ plan?

He stood in the middle of the crowd of Eddisians, watching Gen come into the room, face filled with burden. The first time he had seen those lines of burden on his children’s face, he had wanted to take their burden and make it his own. He didn’t, because even then he knew that each child must learn to handle their own burden, that no parent could take their children’s burden forever. He had forced himself to remember that as he watched Gen’s burden, so very different than any of his other children’s, grew and grew. 

The eye of the gods on his every move. The hope of a nation. The linchpin of a treaty. The king of a nation, and then two, and then three, Gen’s burden had grown far more than any of his other children’s. Than even his own. 

Twelve matches were there, twelve challengers who would do all they could to test their king. Twelve matches there were, and then one more. 

Hector pulled his wooden sword and stepped out. 

Gen stepped into his stance, and Hector raised his sword and did not hold back. He was here to test his king, who was also his son. Or was it the other way around? To test his son, who was also his king. 

A hit. And then another. And then another. Gen couldn’t win, that was the whole point of this trial. He was already bruised and injured and tired, and was made even more so with Hector pushing him on and on. 

But his son was stubborn, and Hector could see the determination in his eyes as he parried Hector’s sword. Then he dropped, and Hector raised his sword, ready to end the match, only to be greeted by a stab to the knee and a kick to the head. 

Tricky, that boy. Hector remembered a time years and years ago when the only moves Gen knows are the moves he had taught him. This one was not, and he wondered where his son had learned it from.

On his back, facing the Attolian sky, Hector blinked several times, trying to get the dizziness out of his head, and thought with no small amount of amusement the last time he had been kicked in the head. 

His son had emerged from that one as the King of Attolia. He would emerge from this one as someone else, with even more burden stacked on top of his shoulders. 

Hector pulled his feet underneath him, got up, and started again. He was starting to feel his age in his bones and knew that if he was tired, Gen must be exhausted. It won’t be long now.

Of course, his son lived to defy expectations. He was supposed to stop the moment he couldn’t fight anymore. After he had managed to score that last hit with his face bloodied and his entire body as good as broken, no one, Eddisian or otherwise, would be able to deny his worth. But Gen wouldn’t be Gen if he did not strive to be the best at everything, even when that something is taking a beating. 

Every strike must be countered with one. Even a strike as feeble as grass swaying in the middle of a field. Finally he had had enough of this beating, because striking a man who couldn’t strike back was no match. He stepped on Gen’s hand, bearing his weight on the single hand his son had left and forcing him to let go of his sword. 

When Gen still reached for it, he bent down and said, “Enough, Gen.” 

He was rewarded with the knife-edged hook to his face. 

Sighing, he walked around the unmoving body of his son and kicked him in the arm. Every strike must be countered with one. The hook dropped. 

He stood on top of his son for a moment, watching his every move. There should be no more strikes left in him, but you only know your limit when you reach them. He had thought Gen reached his limit many times before in the past, but his son had always pushed past it. No doubt he would do so again now.

Satisfied that there wouldn’t be anymore strikes coming from his son, Hector had put down his sword and dragged it towards the bench across the court. He took his time as he moved to sit. His son had truly given as good as he got. 

He heard voices coming from the edge of the court and ignored it. Then he heard more voices and ignored it too, keeping his attention fixed on his son. 

Gen refused the help, as Hector knew he would. He also knew that after that refusal, any doubt still left in an Eddisian mind would evaporate. 

So they waited. 

And waited some more. 

Finally, Gen rose up to his feet and walked towards him, blood all over his face and clothes. If Hector hadn’t seen him do this again and again, he would have been worried. But his son had survived worse than this, had survived something worse than anything he could have meted out, and so he waited, and was ready when Gen finally, _finally,_ sunk into his waiting arms. 

They stayed there for a moment, Hector allowing his actions to say what he could not. Then, after a small, nearly imperceptible nod from his son, he gathered Eugenides into his arms and lifted him. 

His body screamed with the effort required to do so, arms and legs already aching from the blows he had taken, but he ignored it. The movement was familiar, even when the path was not. He looked at Gen in his arms, saw in his mind all the times he had done this before, and decided that it doesn’t matter that his son was his king, already claimed by the god he was named after, by the great goddess herself, and by all the nation in Hephestia’s land. 

He was still his son, and he would guard and protect him until he could not anymore.

***

Standing in that tent, looking at the face that was as familiar as his own yet at the same time unrecognizable, Hector knew precisely what people had seen when they looked at Eugenides and trembled in fear. It was the face of a god. It was also the face of his son. 

They attack at dawn. If the powers of the Continent had truly abandoned them, this would be their last, and only, chance. Before he left to rouse the Eddisians, however, Hector took one last look of his son, for once sitting on his makeshift throne the way a king should sit. 

The way a _god_ would sit. 

He saw his son look every bit the cautionary tale about Thieves he had heard as a boy, and found himself wondering, not for the first time, _why_ the gods had chosen his son. The stories of old told about the glories that a man chosen by the gods can gain. They forgot to show the pains. 

They especially forgot to show how the fathers and the mothers of those god-chosen men felt, when their sons and daughters were taken from them to do the gods’ biddings. 

Dawn came too fast and not fast enough, and when his son rode out to parley, Hector kept his eyes trained on him. Then lightning strikes, and whatever he had felt in that tent, fear and awe and _worry_ all mixed together, was nothing compared to what he felt now. 

What have the gods chosen to use Eugenides as this time? A vessel? A tool? A means to an end? In the unnatural silence that accompanied Eugenides as he rode back towards their camp, Hector decides that whatever else the gods have chosen to do with him, he was still his son. Whatever else he was, an annux and a Thief and an extension of his god, he was still his son. 

Hector rode with him towards the council tent, watching as Eugenides slowly relinquished his hold on his son. The moment Eugenides’ face ceased being unrecognizable, Hector got down from his horse and walked towards his son, laying his hand on his knee. 

When Gen fell, as was the right and the curse of Thieves, he was there to catch him. 

***

When the sword entered his back, Hector did not turn to face his attacker and would-be-killer as a soldier would. It was of no use. He knew a fatal wound when he saw one. There was nothing to be done. Instead, he casted his eyes wide, searching. For the man who had led them. For the man who had brought them all here. For the man, who by Hephestia’s will, was his king. 

For his son. 

It shouldn’t have been possible. The battle was no more a battle than a melee, everyone fighting for their own lives in the narrow passage of Naupent. He had lost sight of Gen a short while ago, every battle leading them further away from each other. 

It shouldn’t have been possible for him to find Gen’s eyes in a sea of eyes. But, as everything with his youngest son was wont to do, the impossible became possible. 

Time slowed, and Hector did not question the how’s and why’s of it. It was not his place to do so. Perhaps it was a kindness from the gods to the man they had chosen as their own. Perhaps it was to remind Eugenides that he is mortal still, and that whatever was his is theirs to take as they chose. 

It was not his place to meddle in the business of kings and gods, no matter that his son was a king and vessel for his god. 

He chose to take this as a kindness, not just for his son but for himself, and kept his eyes on his son, taking in every detail he could for the very last time. More than any of his other children, he had watched this one grow, and then was broken, and then grow again. He had watched as this one had grown even beyond his ability to protect, and had watched as the gods had taken him to be their own. 

Other people had taken him as their own too. There would be as many people protecting him as there were people trying to destroy him, and that, perplexingly, brought Hector comfort. He had done all he could. It was time to pass that baton on. 

He gave Gen a small smile, hoping that that could convey everything he wanted to convey, and then, when the sword left his body, closed his eyes. 

There was no noise. He didn’t expect there to be. A Thief did not make any noise he did not intend to make, and his son was the greatest Thief of all. 

Hector let his body fall, and thought, what a fitting end. 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on my tumblr (huilian.tumblr.com)


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